Chapter 511
Chapter 511
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 24
Chapter Title: The Greatest Creditor (1)
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****
Whirrr—
Clunk clunk
[-B28....-B27....]
‘Let’s see.... First thing when I get up top, contact Commander Young and check on combat readiness. Oh, fuel. We’re taking the transport’s fuel. Judging by the anti-air bunker setup, it’s probably doubling as a military facility, so there should be at least one ground fuel depot?’
Staring blankly as the elevator numbers ticked down, it felt almost like a countdown.
Return, rendezvous with the main force, revise the Dome expedition’s strategy based on what I’ve learned here.... The moment I resurface from this underground comms blackout, I’d be swamped nonstop. So realistically, the only breather I had was this short elevator ride between the Collector business and the Dome expedition.
“Pretty pathetic, huh.”
“Hm?”
“Nah, just.... Everyone around me’s hyping me up as some saint or hero, and I guess I started buying into it without realizing—like, ‘Is that really me? Am I the guy?’ But looking at myself apart from the crowd, I just seem like some fool flailing in an unstoppable current.”
Whirr whirr whirr—
[-B24....-B23....]
“Yeah, probably. Though there’s a difference, of course.”
“Difference?”
“If regular folks are flailing swept away, you’re the one paddling like hell on a boat to pull them out—so it just looks like flailing.”
“....Even so, I’m still just one powerless individual who can’t stop the current.”
“Hm.”
Static—crackle—
Like signaling the end of this brief rest, fractured comms buzzed against my ears from the concrete walls.
“Eh. Whatever. Gotta do what I can.”
Maybe because I’d caught my breath, or maybe watching the serene Thousand Stream Emperor—like some enlightened monk—the impatience from when I’d first descended had mostly settled.
Yeah. Just like always, tackle it one step at a time. Staring far off doesn’t get you there. Learned that in 4World, right? That others—not me—are pouring just as much, no, way more passion and effort into facing these crises head-on.
Unravel the knots one by one, untangle this tangled mess like a ball of yarn.
‘Don’t rush, Professor Park.’
With a final sigh, I steeled myself.
[-B7....-B6....-B5....]
The moment I step out, the war’s overture begins. We’re ready, lined up at the starting line fully prepped.
[-B3....-B2....-B1....]
I can do this. Just like before, like always.
Whirr whirr—clunk!
Ding!
[Ground level.]
And so, with my resolve hardened, I stepped out of the elevator.
Static, craaaackle—!
Before the stale dust scent of the anti-air bunker outside could hit, a flood of comm requests poured in.
[....Mes— You son of a—.... -fucking—....]
[....Move your ass! This is.... Ah.... ...hopeless without you....!]
[Craaackle! Respond....ra. ....Respond! ...rd ....! Repeat! Code Red! Code Red!]
The fragmented voices all carried their own brand of urgency.
Crackle—!
[Professor Park! Professor Park, you deaf fucking bastard! You alive? Answer if you are! We’re hauling ass your way right now!]
The first clear connection: Ian’s hoarse, bellowing voice.
[Craackle! Respond! This is Dome Command! Respond! Code Red! Code Red! Evacuate the area immediately! Repeat! Evacuate the area!]
Next came the Dome comms officer’s even more ragged, urgent shout.
[Please connect, please...! No fuel, can’t fly solo anyway...!]
And finally, amid the distinctive drone of a biplane’s engines, Heung An Mandu’s desperate call for me.
‘All three sound urgent. Heading my way: BDSM. Code Red. The transport that took off first?’
The crisis vibe bled through the static, sharpening my thoughts instantly.
‘Ian asked if I’m alive. He’s coming with whatever friendlies he’s got—means he intends to rescue me.’
‘Code Red. My area’s a dead zone, in friendly fire range.’
‘Mandu took off first.... Means if the transport stays on the ground, it’ll get hit?’
Piecing it together in a flash, realization struck.
‘Artist Alliance entrance, that gas.’
The time I blacked out might’ve been longer than I thought.
‘Underground nuclear anti-air bunker.’
The Collector invited me to a place cut off from the outside from the start.
‘Collector who could scout Raptor Society internals.’
If her fingers reached Gedroits the same way they did me, she could’ve interacted with them too.
“Yeah. It was a choice between two...!”
The Collector urged me to join them, and I refused.
So she chose too.
“Professor Park. That’s....”
“Yeah. I see it.”
Thousand Stream Emperor pointed skyward.
Deep night darkness. The wasteland night sky, thick with dust and sandstorms turning pitch black, now held stars.
Methodical blinks marking them as manmade, piercing silently through the dust clouds, stitching the night sky in uniform motion.
“It’s already started.”
While we didn’t know, we’d stepped right into the war’s heart.
[Everything he does centers on you, Professor Park.]
“Damn it, they isolated me and cut the starting line!”
[Andrey Gedroits. He planned to save humanity from scheduled extinction.]
If his goal hadn’t changed. What would Gedroits pursue now?
Disillusioned deep down by humanity—tech he built abused every time, inner goodness twisted every way, billions of sims showing not a speck of hope—what would this Gedroits prepare for the ‘next generation’?
[Up there is everything you need. Variant virus cure, terraforming tech to overcome the polluted environment, gene banks to revive extinct biomes—]
The answer slipped from my talk with the Collector.
To revive extinct biomes, countless gene samples stored in orbit server rooms beyond human reach.
“....Cleanup. He’s trying to clean house.... From his view, wipe out the irredeemably corrupted ‘current humanity’ and start fresh! Like tossing failed lab experiments and plating new sterile samples!”
“Next generation. A plan for the ‘next generation’ after extinction!”
That gene bank holds genes of the soon-to-be-extinct ‘humans’ too.
Humanity’s past. Pure humanity untouched by religion, culture, ideology, customs—arrogant to the point of vomit, resetting in a new world wiped of old traces.
We weren’t at the starting line, facing war’s prelude.
We’d just met the frontrunner at the finish line, war’s endgame already underway.
My hardened resolve shattered—it’d been wrong from the premise.
****
Crackle—
“Heung An Mandu.”
[....You! You fucking bastard—!]
“Was in the underground nuclear bunker, no contact. Situation? Why’d you take off first?”
[You bastard! You know how much shit I went through up here alone? I must’ve misjudged you big time—]
“I’ll listen to you curse me out for hours later. Report the situation first! Situation! Enemies, friendlies, threats! Now!”
Despair could wait.
The enemy wanted to restrain my actions? Means if I move right, I can disrupt their plans.
....Maybe, just maybe, not too late yet.
So, move fast as possible.
[Fuel! Give me fucking fuel! That’s the whole damn situation, you prick!]
“How much fuel left?”
[30 minutes.... No, 20! Assuming I pull off the eco-drive of a lifetime risking my neck!]
“Why take off?”
[Massive black mist sighted below the hills—then poof, gone like a lie!]
“Cloaking field.... Raptor nest heading this way.”
[Yeah! If it’s binocular range, it’s long in howitzer artillery range! They’re using WWIII-era gear, including useless AA stuff now! Got the plane up before it’s irreversible!]
“Direction?”
[4km due east from you! No movement now—looks like they slowed near there!]
East. East from here.... Gedroits’s unmanned spaceport.
“Good job.”
[Damn right! So, rendezvous point? Fuel? Dome IFF codes?]
“None. You and the transport bug out now. Fly max distance opposite their observation point, then pop rescue beacon and wait.”
[....What? What bullshit is—]
“No time to explain. Heung An Mandu. No, Bae Sung-ju, castle lord.”
Before cutting comms, I called him by his real name, not nickname.
“Stay alive. See you.”
[Hey, hey hey hey! Don’t jinx it like that—!]
Click.
Exchanged key info, cut comms clean. Transport code kept pinging my implant, ignored it flat.
Static—
[Professor Park here. Get me Commander Young.]
[Been holding him here awhile.]
Next, Dome expedition comms.
[Why you were there and out of contact? We’ll sort via report later. Professor Park, you do something about those things in the sky?]
“If it’s those movers up there, wasn’t me.”
[Worst case. Not us either. Circumstantially, Raptor Society messing with some gear.]
“If that’s ‘worst’ to you, grab a drink—I know worse.”
[Already got one.]
“Anyone sharing this call?”
[Subordinates I’d share my life with.]
“Andrey Gedroits heads Raptor Society.”
[...!]
Sharp inhale, then silence.
[....Time to quit drinking. Hallucinating.]
“Gustav al-Harb Raptor—he’s possessed by Gedroits’s ghost. Linker, digitized personality, injected into flesh. Dome’s got long-term observation data on him.”
[My god. That Gedroits, like that?]
“Confirmed here. With this, guess what’s happening up there? Orbital death beams from comics, space waves wiping humanity...?!”
[Ruled out real-world impossibles till now, but if Gedroits.... No point assuming impossible. Movers are mostly Earth-orbit sats.]
“Sats? Military sats?”
[All kinds. Civvie, military, comms, research scopes—everything moving as it can.]
“All of them?”
No answer from Commander Young, but the silence spoke volumes.
2055, astronomers officially gave up ground-based celestial observation barring space scopes. Orbit clogged with countless launch craft; telescopes saw only space junk and sats.
Twenty years back, already that bad. Global trillions spent, barely scraped 1% junk—Earth’s new outer wall, countless.
Now, all those sats moving in sync. Humanity’s decades of orbital scrap.
[....You know what’s in Raptor’s path.]
“Next Space. Gedroits’s base for completers.”
[Yes. Whatever it is, enemy’s prepping something beyond us. And perpetrator’s nearly there—our only space access. Best order I could give: hit that space base to block Raptor intent.]
[Friendlies max speed your way. Soon as in range, indiscriminate barrage on the base.]
“Dome optics range tanks in this dust.”
[That’s why we got time to chat. Had Raptor-range long guns, would’ve leveled your area regardless of you.]
“Commander.”
[I command Dome’s millions. Gotta order. Sky movers beyond Dome defenses. Duty to block before activation—every means.]
“Not criticizing. Rational enough.”
“But.... Feels like desperation, betting all on a gamble.”
Raptor. Gedroits. Satellite swarm. Maybe Earth’s last space ride.
Thoughts chaining, I carefully shared mine, hoping he’d regain cool.
[Gamble?]
“Yes. They’re controlling sats from ground. Destroy the base—if authority holds, then what?”
[That’s....]
“That’s our ‘sole space access.’ Not destroy—seize it!”
[If they had means, would’ve razed it already! Not occupy/protect!]
“Please! Unknown for now! They might have more cards, but that’s our only win con!”
“Server room! Built before Gedroits fully despaired humanity—to hand over everything! Everything! Restoration tools, world-reviving means, even controlling that sky crap—everything! Get it!”
[Too many lives on line for uncertain hope!]
“That possibility’s too huge to blow on uncertain fear! It’s the only one!!!”
Commander Young and me. Destroy Raptor-held Next Space vs. somehow use it—sharp clash.
Amid chiefs’ shouting over frozen comms, commander’s heavy voice returned.
[....Op proceeds. Destroy base on range entry.]
“Alexander Young, you pussy coward fuck—!”
[However! Per chief of staff, environment guts our effective range—thus, legion needs time to close for strike. Long fight possible—so exo-suit unit best for max efficiency here will handle.]
“....Commander Young?”
Exo-suit unit executes. Means not long-range barrage—whole unit closes to knife-fight range at Next Space.
[So, whatever possessed solo op there.... Elite agent securing area/running spec ops gets remaining transit time for autonomy.]
Commander Young held firm. Prioritizing Dome and folk, chose destroy the base.
But still.... Excusing the gap he’d made—the unstated time till strike—he was betting it all on me.
For his ironclad personality, near-unbelievable; doubted it was really Alexander Young on the line.
[I value reason, but prefer proven results over theory.]
[You saved Dome folk in Executioner revolt, Raptor raid, full 38-District war—ways I couldn’t imagine.]
[So, prove this pussy coward wrong again.]
[Out.]
Crackle—
Commander Young cut unilaterally.
Stunned by unexpected win, but I had my shot—clear fact.
Crackle—
[....Ian.]
[Harder to reach than a runaway wife.]
Last: Ian’s, racing my way.
[While you jawed with commander, got rough sitrep. Alive, fucked. Going to space?]
“Scary accurate.”
[Kuhhahaha! Real rocket-man now! Brag anywhere!]
“Yeah, sure. Who else climbs highest in the wastes?”
Funny thing. His metallic laugh vented my boiling skull like steam; mine crept out too, mind blanking easy.
Tension gone, leisure back, creaky brain oiled smooth.
[That’s the play—we advance same line as Dome exo-suits.]
“Roger.”
“One thing. Honest: you did something, right? Caused trouble?]
“Nope.”
[Sure?]
.
.
.
.
[Then do something now. Like always.]
“....Yeah. Like always.”
Click.
Familiar lighter flick over comms.
[See you on Pitza Planet, Buzz Lightyear. Coming fast.]
“Prep a pizza. I’ll swing by before you arrive.”
[Paint ‘Welcome Us!’ on Raptor tank barrel and wave----]
Crackle, craaaackle—
Ian’s nonsense drowned in static. Not just his—Commander Young, Mandu, every channel trying pinged, all shattered to noise.
“Jamming.”
“Raptor nest <10km out. Close enough for noise packs. Confirms Raptor garrison at Next Space.”
Sudden uproar faded to silence as abrupt. Manmade starfield danced artificial across dark sky.
“You.... survived well.”
“....Sudden?”
“Time to part ways, feels like. Odd path, but I followed to observe if Professor Park’s life matched my ideals.”
Thousand Stream Emperor sat on nearby junk pile, no intent to move.
“Life lesson: world’s viciously interconnected. Han Seo-ho volunteers in Krakolanzia, I find his dying infected ass, live as wasteland Thousand Stream Emperor, observe you, end up here tying my loose ends.”
“Makes me think staying’s part of bigger connection. So, sharing thoughts. Everything gets repaid. Somehow.”
“Staying? Battlefield soon.”
“Can’t tag along. You’ve got mutant body crossing 2km like stroll; I’m just keenly trained human senses/flesh.”
Thousand Stream Emperor sprawled atop bunker junk like napping, rad-suit puffing wasteland dust.
“High ground, battlefield fringe, nuke-proof bunker behind if needed. Alliance awkward, but hide in structures en route down. Best spot for powerless me now.”
“....Can’t argue then.”
I nodded; he extended remaining left hand.
“Pleasure, Professor Park.”
“Yeah. Wasn’t bad, Thousand Stream Emperor.”
“Remember. World pays its debts. Half-man, but closest to completer after you.”
“....Heal up, head transport’s direction. Rescue heading there.”
Thousand Stream Emperor’s sudden weirdness.
‘Said fine, but body’s not—probably.’
Dude left spine goo, brain meat, right arm chunk behind. Figured his oddness was worry I’d lug him like baggage.
“End quick, hold on.”
“Hm? Misunderstanding.”
“What misunderstanding.”
Slapped his hand instead of shake, turned.
Compared memory Next Space coords to here, gauged target through sandstorm.
2km ahead. Raptor Society main force camped.
‘....Antidote’s there anyway.’
Pushed foot; claws long burst boots dug ground.
Hours moved, no fatigue—vitality overflowed, near spilling nose.
Body shedding human fast. And my long, intimate, brutal experience wielding it.
Crunch, craaunch!
Feet dug, hands too. Limbs braced, coiling endless power, thighs ballooning till fatigues tore.
‘So, push it.’
Loosed bowstring-taut body—
‘Won’t reach server room, die anyway!’
KAAAAAA-BOOM—!
Gedroits’s Game. Red Mute’s shell-speed from fiction—realized on wasteland.
****
Fwoooosh—!!
.
.
.
.
“Impressive.”
Even eyewitness, doubted that black blob was the man he’d just chatted with.
Thousand Stream Emperor tracked fading blot, rose from trash pile.
“....Come out already.”
Yell to empty air.
“Keen senses indeed.”
Clear reply slithered from junk.
Worn, torn old fatigues.
Aged but groomed gun, knife.
Weathered skin, fiery fur bursting ripped flesh.
“Bu-ru.... was it?”
“You’re Thousand Stream Emperor. My personal rival pick—close second, liked you.”
Tiger Bu-ru eyed the man he’d once wished for his death, intrigued.
“Reason to block me? Sounds like you shed obsession with self-polish. No need pick fight with peer like me—especially in that state.”
Tiger-in-human-skin pointed at baggy rad-suit right sleeve.
“True. Just reclaimed my life, pondering favors now.”
“Then why?”
“Knew you’d chase Professor Park.”
Thousand Stream Emperor yanked starter cord on cherished laser chainsaw in left hand with teeth.
Clack, VRRRRR—!
Chainsaw roared savage. Sequential blue oval blades—each energy blob shredding steel like paper—spun. Closest to ‘aura’ in reality, why he used it.
Shwick—
Thousand Stream Emperor’s stance shifted—to his life’s fiercest form.
Twisted desires, but drove him to now.
Human fought most battles to hammer self to limit—cavalry charge.
“Meant to eavesdrop? Should’ve stayed full listen. Didn’t I say? Everything repaid.”
Shifted further. Leaning right to balance missing arm. Defensive style leaning on blade’s edge over lost muscle.
“Repaid life’s debt here. Gotta give Professor Park this much.”
Moment ‘Han Seo-ho’ vanished from his life—pure Thousand Stream Emperor stood.
“Ha.... Ha. This....”
Crack, craaack!
Bu-ru, facing impossibly refined human pinnacle, burned unbearable envy.
“Provoke this hard, know it’s ploy—still gotta bite....”
“Sure. Might be much for stuck Jeong Bak-ah.”
-Snap!
Felt it more.
Last true foe—tiger he truly hated, devoured—rotting corpse burst withered hide.
“....Fine then—”
Slash!
“Prove your claws my death!”
Human borrowing tiger form charged lone swordsman. Claws tore skin from hands, feet, chest, flanks, thighs, head—ghoul beyond human/tiger.
Thousand Stream Emperor eyed grotesque charge calm, raised chainsaw. Gaze past claw-beast—to inhuman presences edging from open bunker.
‘Dunno how long I hold.’
Kagagagag!
Blue science edge clashed rotting-clawed meat, sparked fierce. Leg-buckling blow.
‘But not slacked enough to fall short.’
KWA-CHANG!
Thousand Stream Emperor’s tip slipped through, elegantly shredding beast flesh.
His answer.
To Professor Park’s ‘how’ll you live now?’—his answer.
Planned instant sniffed beast-stink stalking Professor Park deep bunker—short, simple ‘remaining Thousand Stream Emperor life.’
Thus. Great swordsman quelled one doom with blade alone, though wrong path. Master Sword descended to earth—smile curved lips.
“....If you wish.”
Past countless ordeals, self-loathing, self-harm, pain.
“My name, Thousand Stream Emperor, permits as your death.”
“Not you alone—nor beasts behind, behind them: engrave my name on all your tombstones....!”
KWA-CHAAANG!
At last, his most natural life-form settled.
Swordsman’s lips bore smile like blue arc his bladepoint traced.
****